


As We Go Along

by murphystarr



Series: I'd Love You to Love Me [1]
Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: 10 Things I Hate About You AU, Connor also doesn't like detention, Connor doesn't like Los Angeles, Established Friendship, M/M, Rated T for fuck words, pining connor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 05:28:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13047435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murphystarr/pseuds/murphystarr
Summary: It was a massive understatement to say that Connor Murphy was a regular in room 327. Not because he was enrolled in Mrs. Spencer’s AP Environmental Science, oh, God, no, he was more familiar with the two-hour time slot that served as after-school detention. More than the average high school student should be. But unlike his usual escapades that landed him in his usual desk in the back row of the classroom, Connor could have argued with the principal that his absence from AP World History could have been justified. For the first time, he actually had a good reason to skip class. But Connor got detention anyway, and Evan is determined to help sneak him out.





	As We Go Along

**Author's Note:**

> My first oneshot for my Dear Evan Hansen 10 Things I Hate About You AU!
> 
> Fun fact I've had this written since August but I haven't gotten around to posting it for reasons lmao
> 
> And it's technically the first Dear Evan Hansen fic I've written so characterization may be waaaaaay off
> 
> Title is from As We Go Along by The Monkees because I just saw Lady Bird this afternoon and I have a lot of feelings.
> 
> Enjoy!

It was a massive understatement to say that Connor Murphy was a regular in room 327. Not because he was enrolled in Mrs. Spencer’s AP Environmental Science, oh, _God_ , no, he was more familiar with the two-hour time slot that served as after-school detention. More than the average high school student should be.

Then again, there wasn’t much about him that could be considered average.

Connor slumped forward, nesting his head in the crooks of his arms that were folded on the surface of his usual desk with a deep sigh. He should have gotten used to being in detention by now, it definitely wasn’t the first time he’d gotten caught bunking class and sentenced to Mrs. Spencer’s classroom at the end of the day. He’d gotten caught smoking cigarettes in the boy’s locker room during French, reading underneath the bleachers when he was supposed to be in Geometry, and taking a nap in his truck when he had a free period; but somehow managed to sleep through his alarm and woke up two hours later to the school’s security guard pounding on his window, asking what the Hell was he doing and was he _really_ that much of an idiot??

Fucking Larry really handed his ass back to him for that one.

But unlike his usual escapades that landed him in his usual desk in the back row of the classroom, Connor could have argued with the principal that his absence from AP World History could have been justified. For the first time, he actually had a good reason to skip class. But Mr. Lincoln hadn’t given Connor the opportunity, nor the time, to defend his actions, just smacked an after-school detention his way and called for his secretary to escort Connor to class.

Connor didn’t pay attention to the lecture; choosing instead to focus on his cell phone, leg anxiously bouncing between messages and fingers tapping across the screen whenever a response would pop up. It was awkward explaining to someone over text why you hadn’t come right back as promised, especially when you were in the middle helping that someone calm down from a nasty anxiety attack.

Evan understood, but that didn’t stop him from falling into his usual string of apologies.

_You wouldn’t have gotten in trouble if it weren’t for me. I’m really, really sorry_

_:(_

Connor lightly snorted, the corner of his mouth curling into a rare grin as he typed out a reply.

_Don’t worry. I’ve gotten caught doing worse. I’m actually used to detention_

_I don’t care, that doesn’t make it okay_

_I’ll be fine, Mrs. Spencer will probably be too busy with her plants to notice that I’m sleeping_

_Where are you by the way? Are you okay?_

_I’m still in the bathroom_

Connor felt himself grow tense.

Believe him, Connor had every intention to go to History. Aside from English, it was one of the few classes that he actually enjoyed, and one that he didn’t get his usual C in. But that changed when he had taken a moment to stop by the bathroom to splash a few drops in his eyes. Contacts were a bitch sometimes, but they were better than the stupid glasses that his mom still made him carry with him.

He tossed the bottle of contact lens solution in his messenger bag and was ready to flip it shut when he heard a gut-wrenching choking noise echo off the empty bathroom walls. Connor snapped his head toward the stalls, swimming eyes barely making out a familiar pair of grey New Balances. Connor usually wouldn’t have given two shits about who was having a fucking meltdown in the bathroom, but he recognized those shoes; their owner was so careful placing them beside the door when he came over after school the other day. Hoisting his bag over his head, Connor quietly shuffled towards the source of the noise, just making out the sound of labored breathing behind the stall. He hesitated before lightly rapping on the steel door.

“Hansen? Is that you?”

Connor felt his heart break but also felt relief wash over him at the sound of a pitiful whine that served as a half-assed response. He already had a good feeling that it was Evan, but he wasn’t prepared for the slight chance that it wasn’t the boy that he had been talking to for the past few weeks. Connor didn’t want to have to go about explaining himself and his actions to a stranger, not again.

He gingerly wrapped his fingers around the door handle, jiggling it a bit to see if it would open. It wouldn’t budge. Connor huffed, softly knocking on the door again.

“Hansen, open up.”

He only responded with another whine. Evan wasn’t going to budge. And Connor didn’t blame him. He had gone through his fair share of episodes; the last thing you want is for someone to sit awkwardly beside you, probably judging you as snot ran down your face and you try not to pass out from hyperventilating.

For a split second, a thought blipped past Connor’s brain that he should just leave Evan alone. It was obvious that Evan didn’t want any sort of attention from anyone, even Connor, and maybe it wasn’t worth the time and effort to try and coax Evan into unlocking the door.

Then again, Connor thought that maybe he heard Mr. Powell say that they might possibly have a pop-quiz that afternoon during class.

Eh, fuck it.

He had better things to do.

Connor plucked a credit card from his wallet and miraculously shimmied the door open, then slowly entered the cramped stall. That’s where he found Evan sitting on the toilet, hunched over, elbows driven into his knees, fingers painfully threaded through his hair. He lurched up at the sound of Connor locking the door behind him, tears and snot flowing down his red and blotchy face, eyes rheumy and puffy from God knows how long and hard he was crying.

Connor ignored the feeling of his heart squeezing in on itself, settling for rolling out a foot of cheap toilet paper, folding it into a neat square and handing it over to Evan.

* * *

He couldn’t tell when the second bell rang, and quite frankly, he didn’t even notice. He was more focused on keeping Evan from passing out. Connor hoped he was doing an okay job. He didn’t know the basics on how to comfort someone during an anxiety attack; he usually rode through his episodes in the odd coziness of his closet, banging the back of his head against the wall until he could get his breathing back in check and the vice grip around his heart and lungs had loosened up.

Connor figured that Evan wasn’t the type of person who calmed down by giving himself minor concussions, so he squatted down beside Evan, occasionally handing him folded squares of toilet paper in between reminders to breathe and that Connor was there, he wasn’t going to leave him, just keep breathing, he was okay.

He must have done something right, because Evan’s breathing started to settle and he slowly reeled his head up from in between his knees. He scrubbed at his face with another toilet paper square, letting out a few hoarse coughs that made Connor wince. Evan let out another weak apology as he tossed the damp tissue into the trashcan,

“I shouldn’t have made you skip class.”

“You didn’t make me skip, Hansen. Stop apologizing.”

He watched Evan bite the inside of his cheek, probably to keep himself from sputtering out a reflexed apology. Connor smirked.

“You okay? You need a drink or something?”

“N-No. I’m fine.”

“You sure? I can go get you a Sprite or something.”

“Really, you don’t have to-”

“Too late, I want one now, too.” Connor stood up from his crouch, flinching as his knees popped in protest from being in that uncomfortable position for too long. He let out a hiss as he bent down to grab his bag, ignoring Evan’s stuttered protests as he slung it over his shoulder. Connor unlocked the stall door, before craning his head to meet Evan’s gaze, who had miraculously stopped yammering.

“I’ll be right back,” Connor promised.

But, of course, he had gotten caught.

He had almost made it back to the bathroom–he was _so close dammit_ –sipping at his own can of Sprite when Mr. Lincoln literally bumped into him as Connor turned the corner. He didn’t even bother asking Connor if he had a hall pass, he had learned his lesson last year when he asked and Connor had merely flipped him off in reply as he kept walking down the hall. Ten times out of ten, Connor didn’t have an excuse to be loitering outside of class. Mr. Lincoln just grabbed Connor by the crook of his arm, practically dragging the teenager to his office, ignoring Connor’s shouts and clever excuses. Seriously, that boy could be an actor if he wanted to be; he was really creative when it came time to bullshitting up a reason to be out in the halls.

Connor was brought back to reality when he felt his phone let out the customary second buzz, alerting him that yes, he had a text, and would you look at that, someone other than his mom was actually trying to talk to him. Connor shook his head, and slid his phone open and thumbed out a reply to Evan.

_Jesus_

_Really?_

_Yeah_

_I didn’t want to explain to my teacher why I was late and why I looked like shit_

_And I guess it’s better to hide in the bathroom then get detention_

_nn()nn_

_What is that_

_It’s me_

_I’m flipping you off_

_Can’t you tell_

Evan had replied with three crying laughing emojis.

* * *

Connor wished he could pull out his phone and read their conversation again. His fingers tingled with anticipation, but he surprisingly kept himself from swan diving into his bag and pulling out his janky phone: a battered iPhone 4s with a screen that resembled something like a spiders web. He absently wondered his he could somehow convince his mom that he needed a new phone. Money wasn’t an issue; his father was the head of the highest paid law firm in Richmond for Christ’s sake. But apparently when you “throw your third phone in two months against the wall for the fifth time” you “can’t be responsible for nice things”.

He’d only thrown this phone against the wall three times. So. Progress. _Hooray_.

Connor craned his head to one of the many whiteboards in the classroom, trailing eyes suddenly snapping to the list of unorganized detention rules that Mrs. Spencer had written out in Expo marker: _no cellphones, don’t leave unless you have a bathroom pass, but use it for emergencies only, you’re allowed to talk, but not that much, this is a punishment, not homeroom, blah blah blah_.

Connor knew that he could get away with having his phone out during detention. He sat in the back row with his head down on the desk, which was technically against school rules. Mrs. Spencer let him get away with it though. That, or she didn’t want to deal with him. He had a reputation that followed him like an ugly shadow from his brief two-month stint at St. Peter’s Middle School, that Connor Murphy was batshit crazy and he threw a Bible at Sister Catherine because she had called him the spawn of Satan.

It wasn’t Sister Catherine, it was Sister Margot. And she didn’t refer to him as Satan’s bastard child; she just called him out in front of the whole class because he couldn’t remember all the words to the prayer they said before class. But he did throw a Bible at her; he’ll admit that. Getting expelled was totally fucking worth it. Catholic school was awful. Nuns were awful.

But Mrs. Spencer was a hundred times better than a crusty old nun any day. She kept snacks for the detention kids and encouraged them to do their homework during the two-hour sentence. And he’d be damned if he ruined the unspoken sleeping-in-detention treaty they had between them.

He could hear that a couple of kids were clearly taking advantage of the time, the faint sound of pencils scritch-scratching on worksheets and the occasional flip of a textbook page were the only things that Connor could make out from his insulated arm cocoon. He figured that he should at least try to get some homework done, but that would require him to sit up, and he was actually somewhat comfortable in his contorted pose.

Besides, he would have to go past his phone to get his textbooks, and he knew that he didn’t have the self-control to keep himself from pulling out his phone and rereading the texts he had exchanged with Evan over the past six weeks. From the initial text that Connor sent so Evan had his number, to pictures of trees from Evan’s time as an apprentice ranger, to a recent thirty-minute conversation where Connor yelled at Evan through text messages that he couldn’t believe that Evan had never listened to Glass Animals before, and promptly sent him YouTube links to _educate_ his _deprived ass._

Evan told him he had _a strange taste in music_.

Connor just snapped him a picture of his middle finger, chipped black nail polish and all.

A pang of guilt coiled around in his guts when he caught himself smiling, a faint pink rising on his cheeks.

 _Aw, shit_.

He knew he didn’t deserve a friend like Evan. Connor didn’t even have the right to be able to talk to him. Why couldn’t Zoe have picked out someone else for him to “date” so Larry would get off her back about the stupid dating rule? Why did he accept those $50 bills that she had saved up from Christmases and birthdays whenever he took Evan out on a “date”? Because his parents cut off his allowance when he unsuccessfully snuck back home that July in three-in-the-fucking-morning and he was stoned as a goat. Because weed was the only thing that made him somewhat of a functional human being and he was starting to run out. Because he was a selfish piece of shit who didn’t care about anyone but himself.

It wasn’t supposed to get this far.

He had enough money to keep his habit going through the rest of his senior year; he could stop “dating” Evan right then and there if he wanted to. Cut off all ties and carry on as if nothing had ever happened.

But he didn’t want to.

Connor buried his head as deeper into his elbows.

He really needed a cigarette.

Connor peeked up at the clock, hoping that he was close to freedom and his pack of nicotine-flavored relief.

_3:22pm_

Not even a half-hour had passed.

Connor let out another low moan, sinking back into his elbows.

 _Fuck_.

He was going to be there forever.

The door next to him clicked open.

“Evan!”

Connor perked up to see that it was actually really was Evan Hansen standing in the threshold of the classroom, face contorted and ears red as everyone in detention suddenly snapped to face him. He looked a lot better than the last time Connor saw him in the bathroom that afternoon. The swelling in his face had gone down considerably but his skin was still blotchy. Or could that be a side effect from the fifteen pairs of eyes that had locked onto him? Connor watched as Evan took a breath, than walked over to the front of the classroom, where Mrs. Spencer had stood up from her desk, grinning as if she found a twenty-dollar bill on the ground. She adored the kid. Evan had no idea why, he told Connor that he hardly spoke up in class or participated, yet she always offered to talk with him about plants or anything that was on his mind.

He continued to watch as Evan approached Mrs. Spencer, who had walked to the front of her desk to meet him. He fiddled with the hem of his shirt before meeting her eyes and taking a breath.

“Mrs. Spencer, I know that this pro-probably isn’t the best time, but you did tell me that I could come talk to y-you if I had any questions, and I have these plants at home that aren’t doing so well, and I heard from your daughter one time that you’re, uh, um, reallygoodatgardening? I-I-I-I mean obviously you know _something_ about plants, you teach AP Environmental Science after all, and I’m in your class, but you knew that already, of course you did, and-and-and yeah, my plants are, um, they’rekindofdyingalittle and I, uhm, I don’t know what to do.”

Connor could smell the bullshit from a mile away. Evan had two green thumbs, green hands even; the kid was a natural when it came to plants. He had given Connor a tour of his succulents when he came over the week before, going into detail about each one, how they could survive temperatures up to 130º, but they were desert plants, of course they could survive in the heat, but did he know that some were even edible?

He curiously snapped off a piece of aloe and popped it into his mouth when Evan pointed it out as safe to eat. He heard from his Aunt Shannon one time that you could eat aloe, everyone in Los Angeles was starting to put it in their kale smoothies and oh my _God_ it was hands down the most disgusting thing Connor ever put into his mouth. It was like that one time a few years ago when his cousin Lydia was six months old and she had thrown up all over him and no matter how many times his mom washed his shirt, he swore he still could smell the baby barf. Only this time he could taste it on the roof of his mouth and feel it ooze in-between his teeth.

Connor immediately spat it out in the kitchen sink, listening to Evan anxiously ramble over the sound of him fervently slurping up tap water from the stream and spitting it back out again in the sink. There were chunks of aloe stuck in his molars and there was a bitter aftertaste that the water couldn’t flush out. It tasted like death.

Fuck Los Angeles and their kale-aloe smoothies. And their gluten-free vegan cupcakes.

Evan kept apologizing, he didn’t know that it would have tasted _that_ bad, if he knew he would have told Connor not to eat it, it was a total accident, he was really sorry and he didn’t do this on purpose. Connor did his best to ignore the heat spreading from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears, muttering that Evan was fine and did he have a spare toothbrush that he could borrow?

Connor felt his neck heat up again, watching Evan sheepishly grin as Mrs. Spencer lit up and spiraled into a long tangent about her own experiences with succulents. Connor immediately slapped his cold hands onto his neck, hoping that he could stop the blush from spreading before anyone noticed that his neck was flaring up and pointed it out in front of the entire classroom. Maybe he could convince Mrs. Spencer that he was having an allergic reaction or something and he could leave early. But she might call 911 first, she did that with Leslie Harris last semester when she took a bite out of a cookie and she started to cough and make painful wheezing noises and her face started turning really red. Turns out she was allergic to walnuts. But Connor was sure he couldn’t fake anaphylaxis without warranting some sort of hospital visit, and he didn’t know what he would do if a doctor told him that he wasn’t allergic to anything, he just had a not so subtle crush.

But he already knew that. For a while now, actually.

Against better judgment, he watched Mrs. Spencer and Evan talk back and forth, more like talk and sputter out words, with Connor’s hands still clamped tightly against the back of his neck. He could feel his neck miraculously cooling down underneath his hands, silently thanking whichever incesty ancestor that cursed him with poor circulation. He thought he could continue on like this, as long as Evan didn’t do anything too drastic, like smile until his dimples showed or let out one of those heart-stopping voice titters where his voice shot up a few octaves or maybe it would be better to suddenly act interested in the floor because his neck was starting to flare up again.

He didn’t get the chance to. Mrs. Spencer disappeared into the supply closet to grab her “gardening notes” for Evan and he suddenly turned his head and locked eyes with Connor. He felt the heat spike all the way to the tips of his ears and travel across the bridge of his face; his hands slowly getting uncomfortably warm.

There they were again, the feelings that Connor had been trying to shut away under lock and key for the past two weeks. _Shit_. He was too distracted by his stomach performing an Olympic gymnastics routine in his belly and his heart drumming against his sternum that he almost didn’t notice that Evan was mouthing something to him? What?

 _Go_.

Connor just stared, more confused than ever. What on hell was going on? He continued to stare dumbly at Evan, tilting his head to the side for good measure. Evan peeled his hand off the teacher’s desk, leaving a ghostly-white handprint behind and motioned for Connor to _go go get out go go go!_

Wait. What the fuck?

Was Evan Hansen, too shy to even order pizza online busting Connor Murphy, probable school shooter and stoner extraordinaire out of detention?

This was unreal.

Pigs must have learned how to fly. Hell must have frozen over. God must have descended from Heaven Himself and kissed a baby or some shit like that because there was no way that Evan would step outside his comfort zone and ask a teacher for help, especially in front of an audience of 15 prime examples of lowlife high school students.

But he kept wildly gesturing, mouthing out pleas for Connor to _get up and go_ , and Connor felt himself slowly standing up, fingers curling around the strap of his messenger bag and pulling it up to his chest. He quickly broke eye contact with Evan to look behind him, careful not to bump against the wall or make some other noise, thankful that the rest of the detention crowd had quickly lost interest in Evan and had returned to their previous activities before he came in. No one sat next to him or in front of him, so all he had to do was tiptoe to the open door–open? Was sneaking Connor out Evan’s plan all along?–and book it down the hallway. He could feel his heart thundering in his chest, which, by the way, why the hell was he so nervous? He had snuck out of harder places before: gym class, his house at 4am… Sunday morning at Church for Christ’s sake! There was nothing for him to worry about. He was good at blending in and making himself unnoticeable when he needed to be, but sometimes he got caught. He wasn’t perfect.

He could deal with the repercussions of getting caught in the middle of sneaking out, but Evan…

Holy shit. Holy shit.

“Ah! I found them, Evan!”

 _Holy shit_.

Connor froze, halfway between his desk and the door, looking back up at Evan with a look that could only be described as pure panic. Evan matched Connor’s expression, looking back at him with an equal amount of terror. Connor saw Evan’s hands tremble as the faint sound of Mrs. Spencer’s kitten heels _clack clacking_ against the tile grew louder as she came closer to exiting the supply closet, and would no doubt put two and two together the second she saw Connor, halfway to the door, and Evan, sweating and trembling, staring at each other with bugged-eyes and the words “WE’RE OBVIOUSLY WORKING TOGETHER TO BUST ME/HIM OUT” plastered on their foreheads.

Connor let a breath out.

Screw “sneaking” out.

Connor curled his toes in his boots and lifted his heel off the ground, fully prepared to start sprinting the fuck out of the room. He drew a breath in.

_One… Two…_

“Ah, wait! Mrs. Spencer, hold on a minute,” Evan suddenly sputtered out. The _clack_ _clacking_ stopped. Connor somehow managed to catch his balance. “I-I-I forgot to ask, didn’t you mention a few days ago that y-you had some articles about indoor plants that you wanted to give me?”

Wait… _What_?

“I-It’s just that I meant to pick them up, but I’ve been a little... scatterbrained lately, y-you know, grades and college and stuff like th-that…”

“Yes! I think they’re in here somewhere.” Connor heard some papers rustle. “This might take a while, make yourself at home!”

“ _Nonononono_ ,” he stepped toward the supply closet. “Let me help. I’ve been putting this o-off, after all.”

Before Evan disappeared into the supply closet, he shot Connor a look that could only be described as, _you’d better start getting the heck out of here right now because I can’t keep her occupied for much longer and if I do I’ll be negative ten steps away from freaking out even more than I already am so get the heck outta here_ NOW.

And Connor did.

* * *

“I still can’t believe you followed her into the supply closet. That was some next level shit, Hansen.”

Evan let out a choked laugh, watching as Connor plucked out a pack of cigarettes from his messenger bag. He shook the pack a few times, flicked the lid open with his thumb, and dragged out a single cigarette with his teeth. He looked up at Evan.

“You mind?”

Evan shook his head. Connor fished a lighter from the pack and went to work lighting up. The comforting rush of nicotine washed over his senses as he breathed through the cigarette, feeling the stress from the events of the past 45 minutes fade away as he exhaled.

That shit was just what the doctor ordered.

The two were in the senior parking lot, hanging out in the back of Connor’s pickup, Barbara, as Connor lovingly referred to her as. Evan made himself as comfortable as possible, legs neatly crossed, all while trying not to take up as much room as possible while Connor hung out in a corner, left leg sprawled out and right leg propped up, his right hand resting comfortably against his knee while his fingers gently kept his cigarette in place. He leaned his head back against the back window, relishing in the oddly serene atmosphere that the senior parking lot provided. Sure, there was the occasional car that sped by and the baseball and track and field teams were practicing a little too loudly in the distance, but it was a helluva lot better than the dankness of the boy’s bathroom.

As soon as he deemed that he had tiptoed a safe distance away from the classroom, he immediately started to book it down the hallway, down two flights of stairs, straight into the boys bathroom and burst into an empty stall. He did his best to get his breathing under control; he wasn’t exactly the first person that came to mind when you thought of an athlete. Busting out of detention was probably the sportiest thing he had done in years.

He felt his heart rate slow when he heard his phone buzz in his bag. He pulled it out, finding a new text from Evan.

_Are you okay?_

And immediately, another text followed.

_If you can, meet me in the senior parking lot_

_I’m by your car_

_Obviously, I don’t have one_

_But you know that by now_

_I’m just going to stop texting now_

_I’m being weird_

_Sorry_

Sure enough, there was Evan, awkwardly standing by Connor’s truck. He lit up when he saw Connor hustle across the parking lot, and Connor couldn’t help but smirk when Evan bombarded him with questions, asking if he was okay and did he get caught again? Connor leapt into his flatbed while answering Evan’s questions, that he was okay and if he got caught would he out here talking to Evan? Evan just sputtered out an affirmative and accepted Connor’s invitation to hang out in the truck.

Connor craned his head up to see Evan staring at him, who then promptly looked back down at his hands.

“Hansen.”

Evan peeked up at Connor, taking a moment from picking at his cuticles.

“Real talk for a second.”

“Hmm?”

Connor took in a slow drag, using the time in an attempt to try and coherently string some words together. “You really didn’t have to do that… Y’know… Bust me out of detention like that. I told you I’d be fine.”

“I know… But…” Evan’s fingers instinctively went to the hem of his shirt, but he pulled back at the last second, curling his hands into meek fists. Connor looked on. “I still felt awful. I mean… You got detention because of me. If I wasn’t freaking out in the bathroom, then-”

“I told you,” Connor interrupted, cutting off Evan mid-sentence, “I would have been fine. You didn’t have to put yourself out there like that.”

“But-”

“Stop,” Connor snapped. “What would happen if you got caught? Don’t pull something like that again, Hansen. I’m not worth it.”

Connor took another drag. Evan looked back down at his hands. A heavy silence fell between the two. _Dammit_. Connor knew that Evan was trying to help… In his own Evan Hanseny way. But did Evan really have to go and sneak him out of detention? Really though, it was killer that he didn’t have to suffer for another hour. But Connor didn’t know what he would do if Evan had gotten caught.

He might have done the same thing.

No.

Not _might_.

 _Would have_.

“But… Y’know… Thanks.”

Evan looked up.

“No one’s ever done anything like that for me before. I really appreciate it, Evan. Thank you.”

Evan beamed. Connor burned through the rest of his cigarette, ignoring the heat spiking on the back of his neck.

“Now then,” Connor stubbed out his cigarette before dropping it in the grooves of the flatbed, “where to next?”

“What?”

“My mom isn’t expecting me back for another…” Connor checked the time on his phone. “Hour and a half. I don’t think it’d be the smartest thing to do if I went home when I’m supposed to be in detention.”

“That’s true,” Evan’s voice tittered, and Connor felt his face flush. Only this time he didn’t even try to hide it. Weird. “What did you have in mind?”

“I know just the place.” Connor planted both hands on the side of his truck and hoisted himself over, swinging his legs over and landed somewhat gracefully on the ground. He turned to Evan and stuck a hand out. “You up for it?”

Evan smiled, and reached out for Connor’s outstretched hand. “Sounds great.”

**Author's Note:**

> connor boi i love you but you hard as fuck to write
> 
> And yes Connor is a slut for Glass Animals. His favorite album is How To Be A Human Being and his favorite songs are “Agnes” and “Toes”. He also loves Paramore and he relates to the album After Laughter a lot. It’s like every song was written for him or something. And twenty one pilots. And Panic! At The Disco. And Sia. 
> 
> Don’t mind me I’m just projecting all my favorite bands on Connor nothing to see here.
> 
> I’m on the timblr tumblr @murphystarr come yell with me about Connor’s favorite bands
> 
> like comment and subscribe


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